Metaphorical
by ItsLukasBondevik
Summary: Not even Daisy knows how Lance really got those scars. A conversation that never happened.


"_Isn't that why we're here? To metaphorically compare scars?"_

Seeley Booth didn't consider himself a very cold person, in the least. He was a father of a beautiful son, he based his work solely on catching murders to atone for his past actions, and he befriended people he never thought he'd be even remotely close to, the Squint Squad working at the Jeffersonian. But when it came to Sweets, he just didn't feel a connection between them that was very friendly. The psychologist just got on his nerves to the point where he wanted to throw him in his perfectly tailored suit out of his own office window.

But what he could admit, though, was that Sweets did mean well, all in all. Annoying as he was, he was a good guy, very smart, and he did get the job done when it needed to be. He read people better than Booth did, he was a human polygraph. His insightful quips hit a little too close to home sometimes, but Sweets was, really, a great asset to the team. Booth couldn't deny that.

He was settled on the small couch in Dr. Sweets' office, waiting for the man to bring him a profile that he'd been waiting for all day. He examined the walls, finding nothing of interest in the room, and crossed his legs the other way. Booth was bored, but he needed the file, so he was willing to wait for Sweets to rush down to wherever he had left it to bring it back to him. He pulled out his cell phone to check the time, and realized with irritation that he'd been waiting for almost half an hour.

For a moment, he contemplated calling Sweets, but that was proved unnecessary when he burst in through the door, looking out of breath and worse for wear. "Finally, Sweets, what took you so long?" Booth said with a grunt, getting up from the couch to take the file from him.

"I'm sorry, Booth, I had to actually drive home to pick it up for you," he replied, putting his suit jacket on the back of the couch and running a hand through his hair. "I got my case files mixed up and left the wrong ones at home."

"It's all good, Sweets, thanks," Booth said mildly, patting him on the shoulder as he made to leave. He glanced back, and noted with vague amusement that he'd torn a deep gash in his dress shirt. "Where did you go, man into the woods or something? You tore up your shirt."

He groaned. "Ah, no, Daisy bought this for me for our six month anniversary," he said miserably, reaching back and feeling the tear to gauge how bad it was going to be.

Booth caught a glimpse of raised marks on his back, and his conversation with Bones came back to him; he'd forgotten the abuse that Sweets had gone through as a child. "How long have you had those?" he asked conversationally, trying not to be too curious.

Lance glanced back at him, his face suddenly very solemn. "A very long time," he replied quietly, looking away from the FBI agent. "Before I was adopted." He stopped there, and Booth didn't want to press the issue. There were some things that were probably better left unsaid. He'd never shared anything with the psychologist that wasn't forced out of him by Bones, and he was expecting the same treatment from him. But he realized that Sweets wasn't done, he was just pausing, his eyes squeezed shut. The atmosphere grew tense, and Booth could almost feel it in the air. Sweets swayed on his feet for a moment. Booth thought he was going to cry. "Before I was adopted," he started again, turning back to look at him, "I lived with a woman and her boyfriend. Her boyfriend was violent, an alcoholic and a drug abuser.

"I was little, five years old, and I was interested in everything, you see." He paused again, glancing to Booth to see his reaction. Seeley said nothing, and Sweets continued, his voice sounding strained with the effort of holding back tears. "I found his cocaine. He'd just left it on the counter after the woman fell asleep and he left to do whatever it was that he did. I tasted some of it, thinking it was sugar, and when I found that it was disgusting, I dumped it... I dumped it down the toilet."

He sat on the chair facing the couch, his face buried in his hands. "He came home, and screamed at her about it for what seemed like forever, and she finally told him that I did it." He shook his head, and glanced up at Booth, his cheeks damp with tears. "He beat me with something, I don't remember what it was. I guess I repressed it. I bled for hours on the floor of the kitchen, until she decided it would be a good idea to rush me to the hospital and make up some story about how I got hurt.

"That's how she was. She's defend the abusive boyfriend, but never the small child that she vowed to take care of." He shook his head, pressing his hands against his face again. Booth never realized how small Sweets was until then, just how much younger the psychologist was than him.

Booth stepped over, quietly, to the psychologist, resting a hand on his shoulder. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know how to help him. The words just came tumbling out of him, unplanned, uncertain, something that Booth wasn't accustomed to. "I know it's hard Lance," he said quietly. "I know how you feel. But there's things like that, things that happen and you don't know why you deserved it. Things like that happen to the best of us." Sweets looked up at Booth, almost in awe. "But you can't let it bring you down, Sweets, you gotta just... let it make you stronger. You're stronger than a lot of people, people who think that they've got every going for them. People who never had to suffer.

"Deep down Sweets, there's a part of you that learned from that, that learned to cope with it and to be someone you never thought you could be." He smiled at Lance and the psychologist was speechless. "Between you and me, I'm proud of you."

Lance was silent, staring at him. "Really?"

"Don't get a big head," Seeley said affectionately, pulling Sweets out of his chair and tossing his suit jacket at him. "C'mon, Sweets, let's get a beer."

He nodded, and smiled, wiping his face off with his shirt sleeve. "Thanks Booth."

"No problem."


End file.
